


The power of Love

by crazy640



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Fix-It, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Professor Oliver (Call Me By Your Name), Reunions, True Love, elio-freeform, later ending, oliver-freeform, set in the 90's, writer elio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 15:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazy640/pseuds/crazy640
Summary: -Oliver Laplante is the literary revelation of the year. This work was staged first in the West End in London, then in the main Italian theatres and now it has finally arrived on Broadway.Every performance is sold out and the reviews are excellent.Finding a ticket for the Broadway shows is virtually impossible-said the woman.Oliver frowned, clutching the small volume between the fingers of his right hand looking again at the cover.“Did you read it? What is it about?" he asked without taking his eyes off the boy's photo.“Of course, I read it. It’s a love story.Actually, if we want to be precise the story of the first love between two boys, during a hot summer – said Elisabeth.Oliver's breath stopped for a few seconds at those words.A love story, a hot summer... This work brought back too many memories for him.





	The power of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Ths is the English translation of an italian Fan Fiction that I wrote a year ago.  
English is not my mother tongue and even if I try my best to find all the errors I'm very sorry if some escape my scrutiny.
> 
> Thanks to all that will read my Fan Fiction and let me know what you think of my story!
> 
> This time we go sublime  
Lovers entwine, divine divine  
Love is danger, love is pleasure  
Love is pure, the only treasure  
I'm so in love with you  
Purge the soul  
Make love your goal
> 
> -Frankie Goes To Hollywood-

_New York, 1998_

Life has unexpected ways of upsetting your existence.

When you least expect it, your quiet, monotonous life is turned upside down by a seemingly insignificant event, a choice that will have permanent repercussions for years to come.

As every day, for twelve years now, Oliver was sitting behind his desk in his office at Columbia University taking advantage of the lunch break to correct some of his students' papers.

He had entered that university as an associate professor for the chair of Philosophy and Ancient Letters, thanks mainly to his collaboration with Professor Pearlman and the unexpected success reported by his first book, but Over the years he had taken over as a professor of role in the aforementioned chair and by that time he was one of the most important members of his department, appreciated by both his colleagues and his students. His affable attitude had allowed him to form friendships with some colleagues in his department, relationships that had proved very important over the years, and which on more than one occasion had been his lifeline every time that melancholy and shyness had the upper hand.

A noise led him to look up from the essay he was examining and to stare at the door, previously closed where he found Elisabeth, a colleague and one of his dearest friends, standing on the threshold waiting to be admitted to his "sanctuary".

All his colleagues knew how secretive Oliver was and above all, how much he cared about the privacy of his studio. No one, except perhaps his secretary, could enter his office without his permission even though he was already in the room. Among them, colleagues had begun calling Oliver's office the "sanctuary," though he had nothing to distinguish him from all theother rooms in the department; the only notes of eccentricity were hanging on the wall perfectly in central view from the desk: a small frame with a postcard inside that showed a country landscape and an advertising poster on a evening gala at the Royal Opera House in London where a symphonic orchestra had performed in a selection of classical music tracks.

When their friendship got closer, Elisabeth had tried to ask him what the poster and postcard meant, but Oliver had shaken his head, his face momentarily transformed by a sad expression that had sadden even his blue eyes.

-_Cor Cordium_... - he had merely answered, dropping the subject the next moment.

At the sight of her colleague and friend, Oliver smiled.

-Hello. What are you doing standing by the door? Come inside-he said inviting her in, dropping on the desk floor the pen that he had tightened up to that point between the fingers of his right hand.

Elisabeth came in and closed the door behind her, going to sit down on one of the chairs set in front of the desk.

In another life, Elisabeth would have been the ideal woman for Oliver: shoulder-length wavy brown hair, green smiling eyes, thin lips and a tiny toned physique.

Unfortunately, his heart had been beating for years only for one person.

"What do I owe your visit to?" asked Oliver, settling more comfortably in his chair.

Without answering, the woman reached out to his desk and placed a small book on top of it.

Oliver frowned slightly, before extending his hand to catch the volume.

“_The power of Love_” di Oliver Laplante.

The cover of the book, probably a play, showed the author's name written in white letters above the image of a brown-haired boy with an androgynous look.

-Should I know him? - he asked, again laying the volume on the desk not far from himself.

Elisabeth smiled slightly amusedly.

-I suspected you were spending your life in this office, and now I have your confirmation.

But don't you read the papers? -she asked him in turn.

Oliver nodded.

-Certainly, but I focus on the important news - he teased her in return.

The woman let go a little laugh before shaking her head slightly.

“Oliver, you're a professor of Literature! How can you not know this play? -

"Why don't we get past the part where you tease me about my ignorance of all that is modern literature and explain to me what I missed?" he retorted, looking again at the book's cover.

Oliver was aware that he had limited knowledge of the modern literary world, especially when it came to theatre, but since his teens his attention had been captured by classical texts and later, during a distant summer, his musical interests changed quickly and definitively towards classical music.

“Bach _didn’t write it_ _for__ guitar._"

Shaking his head slightly to ward off that fleeting thought, Oliver brought his attention back to Elisabeth, meeting the woman's gaze.

-Oliver Laplante is the literary revelation of the year. This work was staged first in the West End in London, then in the main Italian theatres and now it has finally arrived on Broadway.

Every performance is sold out and the reviews are excellent.

Finding a ticket for the Broadway shows is virtually impossible-said the woman.

Oliver frowned, clutching the small volume between the fingers of his right hand looking again at the cover.

“Did you read it? What is it about?" he asked without taking his eyes off the boy's photo.

“Of course, I read it. It’s a love story.

Actually, if we want to be precise the story of the first love between two boys, during a hot summer – said Elisabeth.

Oliver's breath stopped for a few seconds at those words.

A love story, a hot summer... This work brought back too many memories for him.

“Guys? You mean...- he asked, leaving the sentence in half.

-I mean two young teenage males. Although perhaps teenager is not the right term, since one of the characters is twenty-three years old-confirmed the woman.

Oliver sighed and looked back at his friend.

"It's definitely not my kind of book," he said, laying the volume on the desk floor, avoiding her friend's gaze.

He would rather be mistaken for a bigot than approach a text that would confront him with his long-repressed emotions.

Elisabeth sighed in frustration.

“Oh, come on, give him a chance.

Also, you can't make a bad impression with the author-she added as an afterthought.

For the umpteenth time in those fifteen minutes, Oliver frowned.

-I don't understand...-

-Given the unexpected popularity of the work, the Dean invited Mr. Laplante to a Questions & Answers with the students of Modern Literature.

You know, one of those meetings with a moderator on stage and the questions asked by the students?

Well, unexpectedly, Laplante agreed and he's going to be here in a week, right before the opening of the play on Broadway.

The Dean is ecstatic, as you can imagine-added Elisabeth at the end.

This time it was Oliver's turn to sigh, before passing his hand on his brown beard over his chin and jaws.

Given the scale of the event and the success of the work, if Elisabeth was telling the truth, the Dean would demand the presence of all members of the Department of Literature.

"So, you'd better read it, even just to make a good impression with the author- she advised him.

"Do I have to?"commented Oliver whining a little, picking up the book again in his left hand.

"Somewhere, there must be a romantic heart inside you," Elisabeth said irony in her voice.

A romantic heart.

Continuing to stare at the boy on the cover of the book, Oliver quickly reflected on his hot Italian summer, on thick curly black hair and on a pair of eyes that constantly followed him but avoided his gaze as soon as their eyes met.

Moving his gaze from the cover of the book to the wall in front of him, Oliver stared at the postcard of Monet's Berm and reflected that perhaps his romantic heart had remained there, in that little corner of paradise.

Or maybe had been lost in the streets of Rome where the memory of two young people in love still haunted the streets of the city at night.

"So, will you read it? “asked Elisabeth.

Oliver returned to the present, looking back at his friend and merely shrugged his shoulders in what he hoped was a disconsolate gesture.

"It seems like I can't do otherwise," he said.

Elisabeth allowed herself a satisfied smile and then stood up and stopped a step away from the chair she had occupied until then.

"Should I assume that I will be your companion to the event?" she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"Since we're going to have to spend the evening listening to an old self-centered man talking about himself, why not suffer together?" asked Oliver, with a smile on his face.

Elisabeth shook her head at the same time amused and exasperated, making her way to the door.

-I don't think he's that old, you know? In fact, I think he's younger than us-commented Elisabeth bringing her hand to the handle.

Too young to know true love, Oliver thought but decided to keep that remark to himself, certain that if not Elisabeth would accuse him of being cynical as usual.

Once the door of his office was closed behind Elisabeth's figure, Oliver glanced again at the volume on his desk.

“_The power of love_”. Oliver Laplante.

At least he had found a way to spend the evening.

_______________________________

-Lady I’m home! -

Every evening, opening the front door, those words announced his return and, as always in response, he heard the sound of fast steps approaching the entrance followed a few moments later by a happy barking .

A three-year-old brown border collie placed his front paws on his knees as she barked, happy for his return and as always every night, Oliver laid down his bag on the ground and bent on his knees to caress the dog's shiny thick fur.

"Hello baby," he greeted her by stroking her ear. "Are you hungry?" he asked her then standing up again and turning to the hanger to take off his coat and scarf.

After leaving his shoes at the entrance next to the bag, Oliver walked down the aisle to the small kitchen turning on the lights as he passed through the rooms.

With automatic gestures he filled the bowl of food and water for Lady and then placed them in the usual place next to her kennel, before exiting the kitchen and heading to his bedroom.

All were customary actions, which he repeated every day of the week upon returning from work. Once in the room he would wear more comfortable clothes and then in half an hour he would take Lady's leash and go out with her for their evening walk.

His life was predictable, or as many would have said monotonous without unexpected surprises; it was a monotony he was fond of, which he had conquered with his teeth and nails after years of struggle.

After his last visit to the Pearlman family that Christmas years ago, Oliver had kept his commitments and got married, making his parents happy. Putting his parents' happiness and his duty as a son before his own happiness...

Before Elio’s happiness.

His marriage, however, had not lasted long.

Only three years during which the friendship that until the marriage had tied him to Jennifer had been destroyed, leaving only bitterness and further regrets among them.

After the divorce was signed, he packed all his belongings and moved into that apartment. The divorce had had as a further consequence the definitive interruption of relations with his parents, who had interpreted the end of his marriage as a shame to the family and had tried in every way to convince him to seek as soon as possible another candidate for a second marriage but Oliver had not wanted to hear reasons.

Finally, at the threshold of thirty years old, he had managed to go against the wishes of his parents, to fight to assert his choices and to stood up against his father, even if this had meant being disavowed.

The only regret left for him at the end of that long battle was the knowledge that the courage and strength to go against his family had come too late, when he had now lost the only thing he really wanted.

Lady had arrived two years ago, after a long period of solitude in which he had concentrated all his energies in writing his third book and from the first moment the small ball of fur had entered his apartment, Oliver had the impression that his days had been more peaceful.

Entering the bathroom to leave the dirty clothes in the laundry basket, Oliver quickly looked in the mirror and for a moment stood still in front of it staring at his own image.

Next year he would turn forty and luckily time had been generous with him: his dark blonde hair was still as thick as when he was twenty years old only with a few gray hairs on the sides of his temples; there was no hint of wrinkles on his face and the brown beard he had let grow on his chin and jaws gave him a solemn air, typical of the university professor.

In those years he had always kept fit, running every day in Central Park before going to University, sometimes alone other times allowing Lady to exhaust all her energies.

He was what many people would call an attractive man, but there was a characteristic that only a few people grasped and never at first sight: his blue eyes were always veiled with sadness.

Even when his face was lit in a smile or a benevolent expression, that sadness never seemed to abandon him.

Still, it wasn't always like this...

Once upon a time he was a real _muvi star_ with a wry smile always ready to charm all the girls around him.

All the girls and one boy.

A hinted smile curved his lips for that fleeting memory, leading him to look away from the mirror and slowly exit the bathroom.

Nowadays he was a boring university professor, the _muvi star_ was in a place and in a distant time, he thought by letting out a sigh.

He remembered the book hours later, once he got home from the evening walk with Lady and after eating a quick dinner.

He took the book from his briefcase and dropped himself on the couch with a glass of white wine placed not far away.

For a few moments he returned to stare at the boy on the cover, before deciding to open the small volume, skipping the opening pages until he was in front of the author's dedication.

"_To my father. To my mother. _ _To M. my lifeline. To you, wherever you are."_

Without giving a second thought to the dedication, Oliver turned the page and allowed himself a long sip of wine before starting to read the play.

It was a three-act play, set mostly indoors, and the main characters were two boys, Orlando and Emile. In the first act, the two boys, a musician and a young professor, were introduced, and the intertwining of the relationships between the two was woven, which would then pave the way for the events that would happen in the second and third act.

The story, set during a summer course at the Royal College of Music, showed the birth of a timid friendship between the two, which soon developed into a stronger feeling on Emile's part. The first act ended with a confrontation between the two protagonists, during which Emile tried to give voice to his feelings in a twisted way.

What caught Oliver's attention and took his breath away was reading a sentence written on the last page of the first act.

"_If you only knew how little I know about the things that matters._ "

Unable to finish his breath, Oliver threw the book on the couch and, resting his elbows on his knees and hid his face in his hands, trying to silence his treacherous brain which immediately sent him back in time in that square, in front of the monument.

"_What things? You know what things._ "

It's impossible... It’s just an absurd joke of Fate.

Trying to calm down, he breathed deeply a couple of times and drank another long gulp from his glass then getting up to fill it again but just then a thought crossed his mind and abandoning the glass on the kitchen floor, he approached the phone and composed a number he now knew by heart.

"Hello?" replied Elizabeth.

"What do you know about Laplante?" he asked her, trying to control the agitation that had taken control of his body.

-Oliver? Is that you? - asked the woman uncertain.

-Who else is calling you at this hour? What do you know about Laplante? -he asked again.

-Is everything okay? -

"Liz please," said the man, lowering his gaze on his bare feet and breathing deeply.

On the other side of the phone there was a brief moment of silence that led him to believe that he had lost communication with his friend.

-Very little to be honest. He exploded on the theatre community suddenly.

From what I have read he is a very private person, does not give interviews and all his appointments are handled by his personal assistant.

That woman must be a saint. Or a masochist.

Did you read the book? -she asked then.

"Only the first act," Oliver confirmed.

There were again a few moments of silence on the other side of the phone and in that short period of time Oliver was able to regain some of his usual calm and composure.

"Is everything okay Oliver?" Elisabeth asked a little worried.

The man sighed and shook his head, as if his friend was there in the kitchen with him before passing his hand over his beard in a gesture that betrayed his own nervousness.

-Honestly? I don't have the slightest idea. -

________________________________

That night Oliver didn’t sleep at all.

After hanging up the phone with Elisabeth, he continued to read the play, finding other similarities with his personal history with Elio.

One in particular had struck him as a punch in the stomach: in the description of a quarrel between the two characters, the oldest of the two Orlando had ended the discussion with a few lapidary words.

_"What's between us can't go on. I know myself._ "

I know myself.

He had said those same words to Elio immediately after their first kiss, when he still believed he could control the feelings that drove him towards Elio, that uncontrollable passion that could not be explained.

Thinking back now years later to his behavior back then he could see clearly how frightened he was: from the situation, the feelings he felt for Elio and those that the boy showed towards him.

No one had ever loved him so deeply... Not before or after Elio.

He had spent the night wide awake, reading several passages of the play numerous times, and eventually concluded that that play could only have been written by Elio.

Why did a renowned pianist and conductor decide to try his hand at a field that was totally alien to him? Hadn't he been afraid to put at risk the credibility he gained after so many years of honored musical career?

But above all, what had made him unravel their brief romance in that way?

A plausible explanation was that Elio wanted to close once and for all with the past and the cumbersome presence of their love story.

But why now after so many years?

Maybe now there was someone by his side, someone important, and the play was his way of saying goodbye before starting a new chapter of his life with another person.

And yet, there was something going against that possibility: why choose his name? Why call himself Oliver if there really was someone else in his life?

He had written their love story, obviously with the necessary changes and granting his heroes the happy ending that had been denied to them, but the story was full of references that only he could understand.

Was that his way of sending him a signal?

_You wanted me to see your show Elio? So that I can lived that summer from your point of view?_

When the first light of dawn had begun to color the sky, he had abandoned the book on the coffee table in front of the sofa and had gone jogging to try to clear his mind.

It wasn't until he found himself in his office at the University that a thought crossed his mind.

Elio would come to Columbia University in six days.

For the first time in 15 years they would both be in the same building.

That awareness threw him into a panic: what was he to do? Find an excuse to be exempt from the event? Or go, maybe hiding among the rows of students so that he could hear him talk about his book, the inspiration behind the work...

Look at him without being seen.

For days he was tormented by doubts, unsure about what was the right choice for himself, but especially for Elio; the last thing he wanted was to steal his thunder, or even worse, to risk ruining the relationship between Elio and another person with his unwieldy presence.

Once again, Elisabeth came to his rescue. The woman had passed into his office during his lunch break two days before the big event to complain about the collective madness that seemed to have infected all the members of their department ahead of that important evening.

"I’ve decided that I'm not going to this ghastly event," Oliver said.

His friend stared at him for a few moments with a suspicious expression on her face and then folded her arms against her chest.

-You're weirder than usual these days. Did something happen? -she asked him cautiously.

Oliver opened his mouth ready to retort as he did every time someone made that accusation to him, but a sudden weariness fell upon him; his gaze shifted from Elisabeth's face to the postcard, observing for a few moments the corner of paradise where he had been truly happy for the last time.

He was terribly tired of hiding, lying, demeaning the feelings he had felt and still felt for Elio.

"I know him," he said, almost without realizing it, without taking his eyes off the framed postcard.

He felt Elisabeth's gaze become more intense.

He was aware of how risky it was to share his feelings for Elio with another person, but he genuinely hoped that he had not been wrong judging Elisabeth's character.

"Who?"asked Elizabeth vaguely confused.

Oliver moved his head slightly, allowing their eyes to meet and continued to stare at her, and saw the expression on her friend's face change from confusion to disbelief.

-You're talking about Laplante, aren’t you? -

-His real name is Pearlman. Elio Pearlman-said Oliver.

The woman frowned with her perfect eyebrows, unable to hide her skepticism from those words.

"How can you be so sure?"he asked again.

The man looked down on the desk floor for a few moments. How could he explain to Elisabeth the connection between him and Elio?

There were probably no words good enough to adequately explain their relationship and the only way to help her understand was to tell everything from the beginning.

Since that summer of 1987.

He looked up at her friend's face and began to speak. He told her everything from the first moment he heard Professor Pearlman's name at the University to his arrival at the villa in the small village of B.; he told her about the first encounter with Elio and their misunderstandings, the silences and the long afternoons spent at the side of the pool focused on the correction of the drafts of his book or lost behind the ever-changing notes of a piano.

He told her about his jealousy towards Marzia, the Elio’s wariness towards Chiara and how this had led to endless days of silence, until the moment when Elio had declared his feelings to him in that confused way.

He was more reluctant to share the memories of the two weeks that had been witnesses to their relationship always jealous of every moment spent with Elio during those fortnight, but told her about their trip to Rome and how he felt overwhelmed the last night before his departure at the prospect of never seeing the boy again.

Finally, he told her about that brief visit during the Christmas holidays of the same year, when he announced his upcoming marriage to Jennifer.

"You know the rest of the story” he concluded ruefully.

Throughout his story, Elizabeth had listened to him in silence and continued to change his expression at different points in the narrative, but never once did Oliver see a trace of disgust or shock at his words. When he finally finished his account, there was a sad expression on the woman's face.

"What happened to him?"asked Elisabeth moments later.

A proud smile appeared instant aninstant on the man's face.

-He’s become a great conductor. And a fantastic pianist... It could not have been otherwise. He had an incredible talent at the age of seventeen.

He was able to reinvent a piece of classical music after listening to it only once. He once started playing a Bach sonata with the guitar and when I asked him to play it again, he went to the piano and played two different versions before settling down and playing the song I had asked him for - he recalled with a smile on his lips, while his mind was replaying the memory of that afternoon.

When he returned to himself, he met Elizabeth's gaze and found himself scowling.

"Why are you looking at me like this?" he asked her, fearing her answer.

"You really lost it for this boy" she said, slightly incredulous.

He wasn't a boy anymore. Neither of them was.

Too many years had passed since that summer and their lives had moved on. Oliver could claim that he had never loved anyone as much and how he had loved Elio during that summer, with the same intensity and fear that a love with an expiration date inevitably carries with him.

But could he say the same about Elio?

-Elio... He got to know the best of me.

He probably wouldn't agree, but he was the only person to whom I showed some aspects of my character that not even my parents or Jennifer ever knew-Oliver confessed, trying to find the right words to explain his confused feelings.

"Why are you so afraid to see him then?"asked Elizabeth again.

Oliver sighed, passing his fingers through his blond hair, before opening a drawer at his desk, pulling out the book that started all of this pain and introspection, and put it on the table top between himself and his friend.

The woman stared at the book's cover for a few moments before looking up at Oliver staring at him.

"Read the dedication," he said.

For a few moments in the room all was quiet until Elisabeth turned to stare at him with the same questioning look of a few moments ago.

"Should I understand something?" she asked.

-M. There's someone in his life. Otherwise why would he put it in the dedication? -explained Oliver slightly frustrated.

"You're kidding, right? " said Elizabeth, clearly amused.

“Do I look like I’m kidding? He has defined this person as his "lifeline", so we can safely say that he is an important person in his life- said Oliver voicing his greatest fear.

"Why didn't you dwell on the last dedication?"asked Elizabeth, lowering his gaze to the page.

He could not deny that that thought had not crossed his mind.

"To _you, wherever you _are." Was it another veiled reference?

_Were you talking about me?_

Still, the idea was absurd. Why not write his initial? Why had he felt the need for so much secrecy after writing a book full of references to their romance?

"What should I do?" he asked, thus avoiding answering her question.

Elizabeth dropped the book on the desk floor and stared at it a few moments in silence.

"Do you remember when I told you that Laplante has never given interviews before?" she asked.

Oliver nodded.

-They told me that when the Dean contacted his assistant to tell him about his idea about the event at our University and the woman refused straight away.

But a few hours later Laplante himself contacted the Dean to confirm.

Laplante, I mean Elio, does he know that you teach in this University? -asked Liz.

Oliver sighed and nodded.

\- He and I haven't been in touch for many years, but for a long time I had a correspondence with his father, Professor Pearlman. He will have discovered it through letters-.

-Let me get this straight. This man wrote a play about your love story, chose to come to this University at a boring event just because he knows you're going to be there too, probably with the only hope to see you again at least once and he used your name as a pseudonym.

You never stopped loving him and yet you don't know if you are going to attend this event?

Are you out of your mind? -she asked incredulously.

-Why is that? I haven't had any contact with him in years, I don't know anything about his life, why would I risk turning his life upside down again? As far as I know, he may be married and with children-commented Oliver.

-If I'm not mistaken, you're married too at least from the latest news he has about you, but nevertheless he decided to take the chance of coming here and meeting you, even if only for a few moments.

You owe it to him and to yourself after the way you ended your story years ago because this could be the opportunity you were waiting for to start over or if not, it will allow you to close permanently with the past to free yourself from the aura of perfection that this story carries with you.

It will also allow you to get on with your life-answered Elizabeth, letting her romantic side to shine through.

Oliver stared at her for a few moments, unable to retort to Elisabeth’s words: even if everything went south at the gala, he would never be able to go on with his own life. It was probably impossible.

He had lived most of his life with the painful and comforting presence of Elio that the mere idea of living his daily life without it terrified him.

Who was without Elio?

Casting a final glance at the volume on the desk between them, Oliver realized that at the end of the day Elisabeth was right: he could not deny himself and Elio one last encounter, even just one last look before their paths split again and this time for good.

He owed it to the boy he had been, to Elio and above all to what they had been together.

__________________________________

That night before he left the house, Oliver changed his clothes three times.

It was not the first time that his university had organized such events and for those occasions formal attire was usually required, but not overly elegant.

Each time Oliver opted for a pair of comfortable and elegant trousers, a shirt and jacket that he often wore and that highlighted even more his air as a university professor.

That evening, however, Oliver paused for a long time in front of his wardrobe unsure of what was the most appropriate look to meet what was without a doubt the love of his life.

Did he had to wear the usual clothes for those kinds of event or maybe something that could help Elio remember those weeks spent together in Italy?

But what?

During those weeks he had mostly worn shorts and swimsuits, clothing that was definitely not suitable for that kind of event and the climate of New York. For a moment, Oliver thought back to Billowy, the shirt he had given Elio, and thought that it would be perfect to send a signal to Elio during the evening: a simple shirt that would not arouse the curiosity of those present, but that would surely have the attention of the only important person for him.

He opted for a pair of black jeans and a teal shirt that highlighted the color of his eyes. He decided not to wear a tie, opting instead to leave the first two buttons of the shirt open, showing the end of his throat.

After retrieving his wallet and house keys and making sure Lady had everything she needed for the evening, Oliver left the house on his way to the appointment with Elizabeth.

The two friends met a short distance from Columbia University and as soon as they saw him, the woman smiled at him and put her hand on his left arm.

"Nervous?" she asked as they made their way to the Literature building where the event would be held, following the small groups of students and teachers heading in the same direction.

"Do you have another question?" asked Oliver, casting a quick glance at her before returning to stare at the fast-approaching building.

The woman chuckled.

"Look at it this way: in a couple of hours, one way or another, it's all over," she said, trying to calm him down.

Unfortunately, that thought was not at all reassuring.

Once inside the building, they made their way to the Magna Hall where was set up the stage on which the author would be seated along with the moderator.

In the small room adjacent to the Magna Hall, a small buffet had also been set up in honor of the guest reserved for the members of the faculty and the entourage of Mr. Laplante.

The event would begin shortly thereafter and both students and faculty members quickly began to take their seats.

While Elisabeth chose a seat in the second row with other colleagues, Oliver decided to stand next to some students with their backs against a wall, trying to make himself invisible.

This was Elio’s evening to celebrate his triumph and the last thing he wanted was to make the man uncomfortable with his presence.

The atmosphere in the room changed quickly: all those present were seated or stood, the muffled murmur caused by numerous conversations slowly died out, suddenly fading when a side door opened and Roger Pullman a colleague of Oliver in the faculty of Modern Literature, who had been given the task of acting as a mediator between the author and the public appeared on stage.

Oliver listened distractedly to Roger's words but he heard him briefly thank the audience, than he heard the brief introduction that the man made of the play also talking about the great success of viewers reported in various parts of the world and finally began to introduce the author.

Oliver didn't hear a single word of that last part.

The crazed beat of his heart pumped blood into his veins at a double speed, causing his ears to pulsate and making him unable to pick up any sound besides his own beats.

"So, without further ado, let me introduce Oliver Laplante."

Everyone in the room began to applaud and, at the same time, the same side door from which Roger had previously emerged opened again and with quick and graceful steps Elio took the stage and entered Oliver's life again.

Not much had changed in the last fifteen years.

Elio had the same curly brown hair, whose locks touched soft his shoulders and despite being more than thirty years old his face still had a youthful air, as if time for him had stopped at seventeen.

He took the few steps to the chair he would occupy during the interview with the same nervous steps that Oliver recalled from that summer, typical of a teenage boy who still could not control the simultaneous movement of his muscles in continuous evolution.

He was slightly taller and, although he would never reach Oliver's height, the man imagined that standing opposite the other Elio could rest his chin on his shoulder without having to bend his head too much, thus allowing him to sink his nose in his rebellious hair.

Oliver shook his head to ward off that treacherous thought and brought attention back to the present, continuing to stare at him: Elio was wearing a pair of black jeans and a black leather jacket over a light blue shirt covering his slender physique.

When Elio set down and took off his jacket to place it on the back of his chair, Oliver didn’t take long to recognize that shirt.

Billowy.

He kept it all those years...

-Welcome Mr. Laplante and thank you for accepting the invitation from our University-began Roger, the tone of voice slightly formal.

Elio nodded slightly, before bringing the microphone to his mouth.

-Thank you for inviting me. -

His voice was slightly hoarse than in the past, but he still managed to provoke a chill down Oliver's back.

"Let's start with a simple question: where did you get the idea for your book?" began Roger, looking quickly at the cards resting on his lap.

Elio was silent for a few moments, distractedly touched his left eyebrow and then brought the microphone to his mouth.

The first time I thought about the story was in 1989. During the Christmas holidays I heard by chance the song "The _power of love" _by Frankie goes to Hollywood. Maybe most of your students are too young to know it, but it was a great success and it's a beautiful love song- commented Elio with an ironic vein in his voice, eliciting a slight laugh from the audience.

–That was the first time the characters appeared clearly in my mind.

But I didn't write anything at the time.

Despite the passage of time, however, Orlando and Emile were always with me, in a corner of my mind and perhaps it was to get rid of their presence that I began to write their story-.

-How long did it take you to write the play? -

A smile slightly curved Elio’s full lip.

-I'm a musician...

"An excellent musician, if I may say so," Roger interrupted him, leading Elio to meet his gaze.

\- I had the pleasure of listening to you in concert once. You really are a prodigy, Mr. Pearlman-

In the face of so much admiration, Elio looked down at his hands and smiled again in what Oliver remembered was the embarrassed expression that the boy always took when somebody complimented him.

"Thank you..." he murmured, still embarrassed, before taking a deep breath and looking up at the audience full of people. "I grew up around books: my father was a professor at University and passed on to me his love for literature since childhood.

This book was a cathartic experience: it was a difficult time in my life, and I needed something that would distract me from what was going on around me. So, one day I sat at my desk in front of my father's old typewriter and started processing the story of Emile and Orlando. It took me two months; from the time I wrote the first word of the first act to when I finished the last draft-Elio recounted.

"So, if I got it right you didn't write the book with the intention of publishing it?" asked Roger.

Elio shook his head.

-If it were up to me, the book would still be in my desk drawer, covered in two fingers of dust.

It was my assistant, who I stupidly asked to read the book and give me an opinion, who insisted that I send it to publishers.

The rest is history- he added shrugging his shoulders.

Since the interview began, Oliver felt unable to move his eyes from the stage and from Elio: he was hungry for any information he might have about the man, any news about the life Elio had lived for fifteen years away from him.

Roger's next question to Elio took his breath away and led him to harden his posture, slightly moving away from the wall.

-Is it an autobiographical story? -

Elio chuckled.

-Any writer would tell you that to write a story worthy of the name you always have to draw from your own personal experiences.

Yes, there are some references to my life, but it's mainly a work of fantasy," he added.

"Weren't you afraid to tell such an unconventional love story?" asked Roger.

"Because the lovers are two boys?" asked Elio.

\- Also for the age difference. If I'm not mistaken Orlando is twenty-four years old while Emile is only eighteen," the interviewer pointed out.

-Love is never easy.

Even if they had been a man and a woman, both in their twenties and students, the color of their skin, their religion or even their physical appearance would have attracted criticism- Elio said honest.

The man remained silent for a few moments, sinking the long fingers of his left hand into his hair, pulling some rebellious locks from his forehead, before speaking again.

-Emile and Orlando are completely different from one another, who probably wouldn't have been worthy of a look in a different context, yet they are unknowingly made for each other, despite their flaws and imperfections.

This love will inevitably mark their lives, leading them to change, because a great and all-encompassing love like theirs happens only once in a lifetime and only a few are truly lucky to live it to the fullest and forever- he added.

The tone of his voice had become sad and for a long moment Elio avoided looking at the audience or encountering the interviewer's gaze. Oliver's thought went back to a distant afternoon, to the attic in a villa surrounded by greenery, when Elio burst into tears shocked at the mere idea that Oliver could eat his peach.

At that moment, despite years had gone by and he had become a strong and confident man, Elio seemed the same boy lost terrified by the idea of losing Oliver in a few days.

Just when an uncontrollable instinct of protection took over Oliver, leading him to consider the idea of slightly approaching the stage to be visible to Elio, a smile curved again Elio’s lips.

“Excuse me. I let myself be carried away by my sentimental streak" he commented wryly, getting a laughter from the audience in the room.

Oliver sighed and returned to stand against the wall along with other students.

Roger continued to interview Elio for another twenty minutes talking mainly about the process that had led the play to be performed in London and later in Italy; all the while Elio responded with the same affable tone and with a vein of irony in his voice.

"Well, I'd say we can leave the microphone to our students so we can start the questions" Roger concluded, turning slightly toward the audience.

Elio followed his example and settled more comfortably in the chair, passing for the second time a hand in his hair and ruffling them more.

The first to take the microphone was a girl with short black hair, who stood up and smiled shyly at Elio before asking her question.

-Have you ever thought about writing a sequel to tell what happened to Orlando and Emile? Maybe in a narrative-like way- she asked.

-That would be nice. But I’m not really good with the writing process, it's not my world.

But I like to think they're happy.

I imagine them both realized, at least as far as their careers are concerned, and that they are still together- he answered still smiling to the girl.

"How did you choose your stage name?" asked a boy soon after.

Elio sighed and once again his fingers sank into his hair.

Once again Oliver moved away from the wall, his hands clenched until he sank his nails into the palms of his hands to control the irrepressible desire to get on the stage or make an impulsive gesture.

-Laplante is the last name of a composer friend of mine. Oliver... It's a name that recalls a happy time in my life- he just answered.

Listening Elio’s voice say his name for the first time in fifteen years, Oliver closed his eyes, trying to control his breath.

Only now did he realize how much he had suffered from the absence of Elio in his life, how during those fifteen years he had lived half a life.

He had always known that he had left the best part of himself on a platform in Rome Termini Station, but he had never understood how great the void left in his soul was.

He opened his eyes again and realized that he had missed the next two questions and their answers and that it was another student's turn.

-In part, you already answered my question, but I was wondering if you had ever experienced a love like that of Emile and Orlando-

Oliver's eyes abandoned the student and returned to look for Elio, waiting for his answer, once again with bated breath.

-Once. I was also younger than Emile, I was 17.

It was my first great love, but it only lasted till the end of summer-he answered, hinting at a melancholy smile at the end.

_The first great love... _The one true love.

"Well guys, we still have time for three more questions" Roger said, watching from the stage as the microphone was passed to a girl with a ponytail and glasses.

-I was impressed by your dedication. Especially by the honest way you talk about your feelings for M... It's nice to see a man who isn't afraid to express his feelings for his partner-commented the sincerely affected girl.

At those words Elio laughed merrily and shook his head.

"Thank you, but M. is not my partner," he replied before chuckling again.

-We've known each other since we were kids and we had a short-lived love story, but in the end, we realized we'd work much better as friends than as lovers. She is the person who knows me better than anyone, and the only one who can withstand my sudden mood swings" he added, still clearly amused by the misunderstanding.

_Marzia._

That's who the mysterious M. was. Oliver called himself an idiot for not understanding it sooner.

The student thanked him and passed the microphone to a colleague; soon the event would be over, and Elio would walk out of his life again.

Oliver realized that he could not allow it. Not before he had spoken to Elio, to have felt his gaze upon himself. If he had not done something, even an insignificant gesture for Elio to notice his presence, he would have regretted it for the rest of his days.

Without even realizing it, he moved from the wall to which he had been resting until that moment and walked toward the center, attracting Roger's attention. With the corner of his eye, he saw Elisabeth following his sudden move with a curious expression on her face.

Fortunately, Roger saw him coming closer and beckoned someone to the right of the stage to bring him a second microphone. Moments later Oliver found himself with a microphone in his right hand, although he still had no idea what to say once all the attention of the room and Elio’s too will be focused on him.

"Thank you very much," Roger said. "Apparently, even one of the members of the Literature department has a question for you, Mr. Laplante," Roger added, looking at Oliver.

To Oliver prospective, Elio seemed to be slightly worried of those words and his suspicions were confirmed when he felt Elio gaze and attention focus on him.

Finally, for the first time in fifteen years, they were looking at each other, and despite the presence of half of Columbia University's faculty and students, Oliver was able to feel the same magnetic attraction that had always bound them.

From the moment Elio appeared on the door of the office of Elio’s father and they quickly shook hands.

Elio ed Oliver. Emile e Orlando.

Despite the distance Oliver felt the weight of Elio's gaze and by the time their eyes met, the man had to resist the desire to climb on stage and hold him in his arms, hiding Elio from the curious looks of all those present.

-Oliver? Do you have a question for Mr. Laplante? -asked Roger, a questioning note in the voice.

Oliver returned to himself and understood, thanks to the tone in Roger’s voice that he must have remained motionless and silent for a few moments, focused on the man in front of him.

Oliver nodded and cleared his throat.

"Yes, I do - he said before taking a deep breath.

-There is a French novella of the sixteenth century, about a knight madly in love with a princess- began Oliver without having the slightest idea where that speech would lead him.

Continuing to keep his gaze fixed on Elio, he noticed how the man moved in his chair, detaching his back from the back and saw how the fingers of his right hand tightened more around the microphone.

-The princess also reciprocates his love, but they both hold back. In the end, the knight asks the princess a question: "Is it better to speak or die?".

I wanted to know what you thought: Is it better to speak or die? -

That sixteenth-century novel, and the story of that brief dialogue between the characters, had helped Elio find the courage to declare his feelings to him.

Now Oliver hoped beyond hope that he could find some of the same courage he had shown him so many years before to show Elio that despite time, silence and too many mistakes he had made, the bond that there was between them had never broken.

After his question, silence had fallen in the Magna Hall.

If Oliver had moved his gaze from Elio's face, he would have seen the confused expression that appeared on Roger's face and he would have also noticed how his students and colleagues sitting in the last rows leaned forward or stood up on their feet to better follow what was going on.

Oliver, however, was completely focused on Elio's face, careful not to miss even the slightest change.

He saw a slight redness on his cheeks, he saw the fingers of his left hand tremble slightly before tightening around his chin, but above all he noticed the undefined expression in Elio’s eyes.

At last Elio took a deep breath and released his lips.

-I know that novel... It was one of my mother's favorites.

I think it's better to speak. But if I remember correctly the knight decided to remain silent because he was afraid that the princess was playing with him. What do you think? Better to talk or die? -

Oliver's lips curled into a wry smile.

_“Non son un cavaliere francesce Oliver "_he replied in Italian, reminding them of how he had mocked the knight at the time for not confessing his feelings to the princess.

An equally ironic smile appeared on Elio's lips, before his eyes shunt Oliver's gaze.

They could have continued like that for hours, but not there; not in front of two-thirds of the department and its students staring at them with curious glances. He wanted to continue that conversation on his own, preferably in his own apartment or otherwise in his office.

He took one last look at Elio before moving his gaze to Roger and nodding. The next moment he gave back the microphone in the hands of an assistant and walked away to one of the various exits of the Magna Hall.

__________________________

He knew that someone would come looking for him after the show he and Elio had given, and he also had a vague idea of who would be Elio’s messenger; for this reason, he was not surprised when he saw Marzia coming towards him with open arms.

What was not expected was the tight dress on the unmistakable bulge of Marzia's abdomen that showcased the ongoing pregnancy. The woman had not changed much from the girl who Oliver remembered: her hair were still the same length, even if it was of a darker shade; her face, that summer almost always devoid of make-up, was slightly covered with powder and blush and a veil of matt-colored lipstick on her lips.

“Oliver! I knew you wouldn't let me down," she said, pausing in front of the man and placing her hand on his left arm, before getting up on her toes to give him a kiss on both cheeks.

"Marzia," said Oliver, unable to finish the sentence before looking again at the woman's belly.

The woman arched her perfect eyebrows in front of Oliver's incredulous look, before shaking her head.

-Oliver! Don't tell me you've never seen a pregnant woman- she made fun of the man.

–Before you ask me no, Elio is not the father" she added, laughing cheerfully again, amused in front of the confused expression that stretched out Oliver's face.

Oliver shook his head slightly and met Marzia's gaze, finally smiling at her before opening his arms to embrace what he considered an old friend.

"It's good to see you again Marzia" he said, giving her a little kiss on her right cheek.

Marzia quickly stroked his back, before dropping her hand down his left arm and taking his hand.

-I'm happy to see you, too, but now we must go. We have a short time before the buffet- she said starting to walk down the aisle. –I managed to convince the Dean to give Elio a fifteen minutes break before the refreshment. I knew you'd need it to talk-

Oliver stopped in the middle of the corridor and stared at her.

"What do you mean?" he asked her, frightened and at the same time full of hope for the woman's words.

Marzia sighed.

“It's been how many years, and yet you haven't changed much, have you? Elio came here for you," she said in an obvious tone.

Oliver stared at her in disbelief.

-For me? After all this time...-

“Time is irrelevant in your history. He only agreed to attend this event in the hope of seeing you. Now how about moving? We don't have much time" Marzia recalled pragmatically.

Oliver nodded and allowed himself to walk through corridors that he knew well and that he crossed every day, still shocked by Marzia's words.

Is it possible that once again Elio had been the bravest of the two? He had agreed to come to Columbia with no certainty of meeting him, with the assurance that Oliver was still married, and that the encounter would only reopen old wounds that were never really healed.

Did he still love him so much?

At last Marzia stopped in front of a closed mahogany door, like many others in the Literature Department and turned to him.

“Elio is inside. You have less than fifteen minutes so try to make the most of it," Marzia told him, accompanying the last words with a mischievous smile that led Oliver to lower his embarrassed gaze.

"I ask you only one thing," added the serious woman, leading him to meet her eyes once again.

-Whatever you decide, be gentle with him- she said.

Oliver nodded. There was no need to add anything else, because no one better than him knew what the woman had left unsaid: he had felt the same pain for the last fifteen years of his life and would do anything for to prevent Elio from suffering in the same way.

He turned to the door and at the same time put his hand on the handle and took a deep breath, trying to find the courage he had always lacked in similar situations.

The next moment he turned the handle and opened the door.

Elio was standing in front of a large bookshelf crammed with volumes and hearing the door opening, he slightly turned his head toward the threshold.

The two men remained silent until Oliver entered the room and closed the door behind himself.

"Hey" he said, turning completely towards him.

"Hey" Oliver greeted him, motionless a few steps from the door, unable to step forward and at the same time to take his eyes off Elio's face.

The two men stared at each other for a few moments in silence; Oliver gave the other time to study the changes that had occurred in his person during those years and, for a brief moment he wondered what he would do if after that careful examination Elio decided that it was better to close quickly that meeting so as not to risk ruining the memory of that magical summer and their history.

At the end of the day he had to admit to himself that he was no longer the 20-year-old boy Elio remembered even though his body had held up discreetly as time went on.

"You look good" he finally said looking up at his face.

Oliver looked down for a few moments, staring at the tip of his shoes.

"You too" he replied, looking back at the other man's face. "You haven't changed much" he added in extreme embarrassment.

Elio hinted at a smile.

-If you hadn't grown a beard, I could say the same thing about you...-

In the room silence fell again, as the two men continued to stare stealing with their eyes every slight change to keep it in their memory.

"Congratulations on your book" Oliver said, breaking the silence between them.

"Did you read it?" asked the other, a hopeful expression in his eyes.

Oliver nodded.

They didn’t have much time, Marzia had told him several times, so if he wanted to at least try to change things he would have to do it quickly, before Elio left that office and his life for the second time.

-I must admit that it took me a while to figure out who was hiding behind the author’s name but once I got to the end of the first act I had no more doubts.

In fact, given Orlando's description, I wanted to thank you for being so generous to me. You make me look like one of the Greek statues your father loved so much- he added.

Elio sniggered.

"You are and you will always remain a muvi star-

Oliver smiled and shook his head slightly before retuning serious again.

"Why did you write the book Elio?" he decided to ask. Was it your way to make peace with the past and with the two of us? Or did you want to close our story for good so we could move forward? -

Elio stared at him in silence for a few moments, before taking a deep breath and lowering his gaze.

-If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that the past can't be erased. I tried in every possible way to forget what happened between us, but every time something insignificant happened and you returned overwhelmingly in my mind: your words, your voice, your eyes.

Don't get me wrong, there were other people after you, men and women with whom I was happy but none of them were like you. None of them could understand me with a single glance like you, no one made me feel as important as you did-

Elio looked up again and stared at Oliver's eyes.

-As I said to your students before, the feelings between us were something that changed my life, so I think as much as I can try I will never be able to erase that summer because it's because of it and you if I've become the man I am today- he concluded in a firm, calm voice.

Oliver found himself momentarily unable to speak. What could have matched those words?

Perhaps with a cold mind he would have found himself agreeing with Elio, to admit that even his life had been shaped around the memory of that summer, so that nothing and no one could ruin the perfect aura that accompanied it.

But at that moment, with his throat clenched for too many emotions he managed to utter only one sentence.

"I remember everything about that summer" he said in a broken voice that surprised him and did not recognize.

Elio stared at him with a questioning look, clearly waiting for what he would say next.

-I remember perfectly what I thought the first time I saw you, how I felt when we first sat at a coffee table in the square and the emotions I felt when you played for me.

_Bach never wrote it for the guitar- _He said with a smile.

Looking at Elio's face, he saw that the features of the man's appearance had slightly stiffened to his words.

Was it because of something he said? Or was it because of the same wave of emotions that seemed to overwhelm him as he remembered those precious moments?

-I'm a difficult person, Elio.

It's not easy to live with me. I've always been reproached that I keep my emotions bottled, I never let people help me with my problems... You were the only one I showed a part of me that no one else had ever seen, neither my parents nor my ex-girlfriends. I've been myself with you.

You know why? You're the only one who really understood me.

In your book you wrote that I was the only one who could understand you with a single glance.

Did you never realize it was the same for you? That you too could anticipate my every thought with a single glance? -he asked.

Elio shook his head, in disbelief.

-Still, it’s true. You don't know how terrified I was of this.

I thought I was impenetrable, and yet you only needed one look to understand each of my darkest secret- he confessed.

Oliver took a deep breath and passed a hand through his hair in a gesture that revealed all his nervousness.

Now came the hardest part.

"I will never be able to forgive myself for that phone call" he admitted.

-Oliver…- tried to interrupt Elio.

Oliver shook his head and interrupted Elio's protests.

-That’s the truth. I knew I was going to hurt you, but out of a stupid sense of honor, I preferred to inform you in person of what I was about to do.

I sought your permission because if I could freely choose what to do that marriage would have never happen.

You've always been the bravest of us, and that's why I asked you that stupid question: I needed you to give me some of your courage to make the biggest mistake of my life.

We didn't last long, you know? -he confessed, as if it were unnecessary information.

To those words Elio frowned, clearly surprised by that unexpected revelation.

"What do you mean?" he asked in a tense voice.

Oliver shrugged.

-We divorced after three years. Jennifer realized almost immediately that I had married her because I was unable to go against my family and not because I was really in love with her.

With time she also realized that throughout our marriage I was in love with another person-

The incredulous expression that was on Elio's face up to that point was swept away by the anger that almost completely trasformed the man's face.

“Three years? Why didn't you ever do anything to get in touch with me? Why have you waited all this time?" he asked, trying to control the tone of his voice and not to be carried away by anger.

Oliver sighed sadly.

-Because I'm a coward. I was afraid to turn your life upside down again, to ruin a possible relationship between you and another person and especially because although I am firmly convinced that you are the love of my life I would have been willing not to meet you again if you had been happy- tried to explain Oliver to him.

-Didn't you ever think about what I wanted?

Why do you always have to decide for both of us? -Elio asked him, his fists clenched to try to control the anger. – Do you have a vague idea of how many times I have been tempted to write to you or to call you, but I gave up so as not to create problems for you with your wife?

Do you know how many times passing by New York, I thought I'd go to Columbia University for a greeting?

I never did it to respect your marriage. A marriage that I now discover was over twelve years ago – Elio rebuked.

“Then why are you here? Why did you accept the Dean's invitation?

I'm not going to pretend to be a person who keeps up with the news of the literary world, but I know what's going on in my University.

They told me that you don't give interviews, that Marzia had turned down this meeting for you, and that you were the one who called the Dean to accept.

Why did you come here today Oliver?" asked Oliver, taking two steps forward and stopping a short distance from Elio.

Elio let go a frustrated breath and brought a hand to his face, rubbing his eyes.

-You wanted this brief meeting before you went your own way? I know the discovery of my divorce has upset everything, but please tell me what you expected from this event- Oliver asked him again almost pleading.

He stared again into Oliver's eyes, looking at him with an air of defiance.

-Honestly? I wanted to see you to prove to myself that after all these years your effect on me had vanished.

My intent was to have a polite conversation with you, maybe surrounded by your colleagues or your wife and show you that this time I was the strongest between us, the one able to turn his back and leave without any scars- confessed Elio the attitude in his body almost corroborating his harsh words.

-You think it was easy for me to get on that train and leave you there? Do you really think I was ok that day? - Oliver asked in return.

-HOW WOULD I KNOW? You haven't even turned around once! You and your typically American attitude...- commented bitterly Elio.

"What would that mean?" asked Oliver, trying to curb his anger and make sense of what was going on.

How did they end up yelling at each other? Why what was supposed to be a clarifying talk turn into a slaughtering match?

"It means you got what you wanted" blurted out Elio, looking at him with eyes full of anger and pain at the same time. "You found a poor idiot who worshipped you, someone who followed you like a little dog and spent hours waiting for you to come back.

You can pretend that it's not true, but you were flattered by all that adoration. You say I was able to understand you with a single glance and yet I never understood what you really thought, what you were feeling while we were together- confessed.

–I was almost paralyzed by fear of making mistakes, of saying something that would make you move away again that I would indulge your every wish. If you'd asked me to jump off a bridge, I would have done it without even questioning your request. And yet, when it was time to leave, you didn't think for a moment before you hugged me one last time and get on that train- he said angrily.

Oliver stared at him terrified.

Could it be that Elio considered him such an insensitive bastard to play with the feelings of a teenage boy? How had he misunderstood his gestures, his attentions in this way, and managed to taint everything they had experienced together? Why had he turned the pure love between them into something so petty?

"Do you really think this about me?" he asked with a broken voice.

-What else was I supposed to think? You promised we'd keep in touch, but the only time you called was to announce your wedding. What would you have thought you were me? - asked Elio in in return in a weary voice.

Oliver nodded his head.

There was nothing left to discuss. Elio had destroyed everything that had help him carry on in these years, the only thing that allowed him to move forward.

Oliver turned his gaze toward the office door and was told he should leave that room as soon as possible.

-It's time for you to go back to the others. They're waiting for you- he said, in a distracted tone.

-Oliver…-

Oliver shook his head, turning his back on Elio, and in two strides he stood by the office door. He put his hand on the handle, but before opening it he knew that he had to say something before their paths parted again, this time definitively.

Something he hoped would help Elio understand his behavior during that last day.

-Last night in Rome, I was awake all night watching you.

You were fast asleep, so I got the chance to imprint every detail of your face and body in my memory, and as time went on, I realized I wouldn't be able to leave you. So, I started thinking about alternatives. I told myself that I could stay in Italy and work with your father, that I could become a writer... I thought of a thousand different options. And yet, each time I faced the same obstacle: my father.

The only person I've ever been afraid of in my entire life. He was a powerful man, a politician, and I knew that if I decided not to return to the United States, if I chose to stay with you, he would make my life a living nightmare until I submitted again to his will-

Oliver turned his hand away from the handle and turned around, looking again at Elio who looked back at him with a careful and suspicious air.

“I would have. I would have endured everything to be with you, but I was aware that it would make your life a nightmare too, that he would have done anything to stop you from fulfilling your dream and I could not allow it.

I couldn't let your talent go unexpressed, or that you couldn't reach the honors you got because of me. You'd have hating me," Oliver said as a sad smile arched his lips. "But apparently you hate me anyway," he added, letting all the sadness that accompanied that thought shine through his words.

Oliver sighed and shrugged.

-That's why I got on the train that day. That's why I never looked back even though I felt your gaze on me even after the train started moving.

I knew if I'd even throw a look at you, I'd rush off the train and give a about it-

After that long monologue, Oliver was quiet, turned his back on Elio again, and walked out of the office.

_______________________________

The last thing Oliver wanted right now was take part at the buffet organized in Elio’s honor. He needed to be alone in his office, in complete silence to reflect calmly on what had just happened.

But Oliver was aware that if he missed the buffet the Dean would express his displeasure, especially after the small show he had given himself during the public meeting in front of the students and his colleagues.

He then mechanically walked to the room where he was sure to find refreshments and made his way to the table where the spirits were set up, taking a glass of white wine and drinking a long sip while Elio's words still rang in his head.

Could it be that Elio altered his every action during that summer? Did he really think he could behave so petty that he took advantage of a teenage boy just for fun, regardless of his feelings or the endless consequences that those moments together would have on the lives of both? How did he not realized how much it had pained him to stay away from Elio for days at a time, or how much the silence between them had hurt like a punch in the stomach?

Why didn't Elio realize how jealous he was of the relationship between Elio and Marzia, of the simplicity of their relationship, of not having to hide?

Oliver was sure of one thing: he would not allow Elio to ruin the memory of that summer. If this evening was the last time he and Elio met, Oliver would always have a healthy and pure memory of their romance. Nothing would change his mind about his feelings, or the impact Elio had on his life.

-There you are! -

A voice tore him from his thoughts and brought him back to the present. Oliver turned slightly to the right and saw Elizabeth a short distance from himself.

-I've been looking all over for you. Where were you been? - asked her friend with a slight smile.

"It doesn't matter" Oliver replied, drinking another long sip from his own glass.

Elizabeth arched her eyebrows.

"Is everything all right?" she asked in a worried tone, placing a hand on his right arm.

"As soon as I’ll get out of here, it will be over" said Oliver.

"Oh Oliver”

Oliver shook his head before finishing up in a single swallow what was left of the white wine, then leaving the empty glass on the table not far away.

-I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to be here. Do you think I could hide in my office without infuriating the Dean? -he asked her in what he hoped to be an ironic tone.

"Try to hold on for five minutes, just enough time to be noticed, then you can leave quietly" Liz reassured him.

Oliver nodded, taking a second glass of wine from a table nearby.

Just then, Elio entered the room, greeted by applause from mostly of the professors of Columbia. At the sight of the man, Oliver moved to a more sheltered spot in the hall, briefly encountering Marzia’s gaze who had followed Elio as his personal assistant.

Trying to appear uninterested, Oliver stood by a window overlooking one of the university's interior gardens and turned his back on the audience and the guest of honor. His only goal at that moment was to wait ten minutes before he could take off without incurring in the Dean's anger.

Continuing to look at the portion of the garden that was visible from the window, Oliver saw a group of students slowly walking toward the dormitories, probably after viewing the meeting with the great Oliver Laplante.

"I asked you to be kind" said a voice to his left.

A sad smile curved his lips slightly.

"It's not me that you should be scolding this time," he said without looking away from the window, feeling Marzia warmth next to him.

"What do you mean?" asked the woman again, with a hint of curiosity in her voice.

Oliver sighed and drank a new sip from his own glass.

"I mean, I wasn't the one who was cruel" he said, continuing to evade her stare.

"I don't believe it" Marzia replied firmly. -After everything he's done to see you... It's not possible- she added confused.

Oliver turned slightly towards her, allowing her to see the sadness in his eyes, and raised his shoulders sadly.

-I was ready to put my heart in his hands, but he trampled everything...

The summer we spent together, the two of us, made me feel like a bastard who took advantage of him, not thinking about his age or his feelings-he said slowly, as if it was painful to utter every word.

Marzia stared at him baffled, unable to find the right words to say.

Oliver smiled at her and leaned over Marzia, placing a small kiss on her cheek.

"It was nice to see you again Marzia " he told her, before laying the empty glass on the windowsill and walking toward the hall door.

___________________________________

As the door of his office closed behind him, Oliver breathed a sigh of relief. He took a few steps to reach his desk and after wandering around it he let himself fall in his chair, abandoning his head on the backrest closing his eyes at the same time.

Elizabeth was right when a few hours earlier she had told him that one way or another in a few hours everything would be over. This time it was over.

It was time to start anew.

Once again, Elio had proved to be the strongest between them and had changed the cards on the table, completely upsetting their lives with a few words. The difference was that while the first time his words had allowed both to recognize a feeling that was almost as strong and indispensable as the air they breathed, this time Elio's statements had provoked an emotional earthquake that would have repercussions for a long time, if not forever.

For fifteen years he had lived his life with the comforting presence of Elio and the memory of their love, how could he now rework everything considering what Elio had just told him and start a new life without him? A life where the thought of that summer and that love were not tainted by the idea of having unconsciously abused Elio's trust? To have taken advantage of him and his young age, exchanging an infatuation for the same feeling that he himself had for the young man?

Oliver sighed and hid his face in his hands, again wondering how he had been so blind and reckless.

Back then he believed that he had found a kindred spirit, instead he had only projected his feelings on to Elio, without ever asking the person directly concerned how he felt about him.

The man took his hands off his face and opened his eyes again, staring for a few moments at the postcard of his corner of paradise hanging on the wall. Did he act like a bully even then?

Still, he remembered perfectly what had happened, their kiss, his attempt to be an adult and prevent the situation from escalating, Elio's warm hand on his genitals through the light fabric of his shorts.

Maybe that kiss was the only thing he could save from the entire summer. The only pure moment.

He rose from his thoughts when he heard a slight knock at the door. For a slight second he was tempted not to answer, but the next moment anyone on the other side of the door knocked again, causing him to sigh for such insistence.

"It’s open" he said sitting straight in his chair.

When the door opened and the unmistakable figure of Elio appeared on the threshold, Oliver stiffened.

"Can I come in?" he asked standing at the door.

Oliver stared at him for a few moments, unsure of what to do: should he ask him to leave and continue his self-pity in solitude, or should he let Elio in, thus risking new wounds?

At last, he nodded.

"How did you find my office?" he asked, watching him stand a short distance from his desk.

-It was one of your colleagues who show me your office. She seemed to be looking forward for us to meet. She was little bit shorter than me, green eyes, brown hair... Do you know her? - he briefly described her to Oliver.

Liz. Of course, it was her.

Oliver nodded.

"Why aren't you among your admirers?" he asked again, trying to postpone a new discussion as much as possible.

Elio chuckled.

"I've attended enough dinners with academics during my teenage years that I feel sick just thinking about enduring another one" he said. "That's why I never give interviews or take part in such events" he added.

Again, Oliver nodded, letting the silence fall between them.

Elio approached the desk and paid attention to the neatly placed papers on the floor he sat on it, settling in front of Oliver.

The two men stared silently at each other for a few moments, until Elio moved a hand to his hair to remove some rebellious locks from his forehead and looking away from Oliver disclosed his lips.

“I owe you an apology" he began.

"There's no need for it" Oliver interrupted.

-Please, Oliver…-

Oliver was silent again, waiting for Elio to regain his courage to continue speaking.

"Do you remember when I told you that my parents knew about us?" asked Elio and Oliver nod again, while an uncertain expression drew on his face. -When you left, my father told me one very important thing.

The day after I came back from Rome, I went to his office and he told me that I had been lucky to meet you" he said, with a little smile on his lips.

"To be precise, he said we were lucky to have met the other because we were both good people.

Our personalities had prevented neither you nor you from taking advantage of the feeling we had for each other. To hear him say this made what was between us even more special.

_“Parce que c'était lui; parce que c'était moi”_.

Because it was him, because it was me-- he remembered with a slight smile to curve his lips.

Oliver stared at him in silence, trying to control the new conflicting emotions that Elio's words had roused in him.

-My father understood you better than I did from the beginning. The first week, when you still finished each sentence with your _"Later!_ ", during dinner, I said you were a pompous arrogant, but he pointed out to me that maybe behind your posing and talking, was hiding a shy person-

After those words, Elio shrugged as if he wanted to apologize with that little gesture for thinking badly of the man so many years ago.

-As usual, he was right- ended.

Oliver exhaled deeply and passed his hand on his chin, stroking his beard.

"Why are you here Elio?" he asked, casting a glance under his thick eyelashes.

Elio lowered his head, bringing his gaze to his abandoned hands on his knees.

"The news of your divorce infuriated me" he admitted. "The thought that in all these years you have never made any attempt to get in touch with me...-continued.

His words, however, provoked an unexpected reaction in Oliver, leading the man to get up from the chair in which he had been sitting up to that point and to bypass the desk.

-What would have changed? Apparently twelve, nine or three years ago I would have got the same reaction. In fact, I don't understand why we're having this conversation again" he said, barely holding back his anger.

He approached the large bookshelf that occupied a wall of his office and stared for a few moments at the various volumes neatly placed on a shelf, giving his back to Elio.

-Apparently, my memories of that summer are completely different from yours. Why talk about it again? – he asked.

Why did Elio wanted to hurt him again, almost carelessly? Did he want to get revenge for the shock he felt at the discovery of his divorce? Did he want some sort of compensation for the years they had wasted away from each other?

The noises he heard behind him made it clear to Oliver that Elio had returned to his feet and turned to him but remained at a distance.

"What do you remember about that summer?" Elio asked in a cautious tone.

Oliver closed his eyes and bent his head in a gesture full of exhaustion.

-Elio... -

"Please, only indulge me for a few minutes," Elio asked again, with the same caution as before.

Oliver sighed and turned around again; if Elio wanted to ruin everything between them, he had to do it by looking him in the eye.

"Do you remember that I fell asleep as soon as I got to your room?" he asked, receiving a nod from the other.

-After collapsing on your bed, I sank my head on the pillow and smelled... I think it was your shampoo. It was great. I remember feeling at home- added with a slight smile.

\- I spent days looking at you, to the point where I was always aware of where you were, even when you thought I was completely indifferent to your presence, trying to figure out why you were so special to me, why I was so attracted to you, but I never managed to find an answer.

I can't tell you even now after so many years- he confessed.

–I tried to get your thought out of my head by fooling around with Chiara, but as you know it didn't help, in fact the situation turned against me when you started to sleep with Marzia" he said, raising his voice slightly and giving vent to the frustration he felt every time he thought back to those moments.

That was a sore note on which Oliver never lingered; the thought of not having been enough for Elio made him suffer like the first time.

To his words, a mortified expression appeared on Elio's face, as if he were aware that his behavior in those moments had not been exemplary, neither towards Marzia nor Oliver.

-When you took me to Monet's Beam that day and kissed me, after confessing your feelings to me, I was on the verge of giving in and making love to you there on the grass- he confessed.

"Why didn't you?” asked Elio.

Oliver shrugged and sank his hands into the pockets of his pants.

-Because you were seventeen Elio, so I had to act like an adult. I knew you were going to let me do whatever I wanted, so I had to put a stop on my instincts-

-What changed then? Why then did you ask me to see us at midnight? -Elio stepped forward towards him.

"You really don't know?" asked Oliver with a sad expression.

-I need to hear you say it- admitted Elio, coming to a stop in front of him.

Oliver looked away from the other's face for a few moments, looking for the courage he had missed so many years before, only to return to meet Elio's gaze.

Now or never.

-I was in love with you. Ever since you played the piano just for me.

But I was also mad with jealousy since that morning when you candidly admitted that you almost slept with Marzia. There was a worm in my head that kept asking: why her and not me? What does she have more than me? - he confessed brutally sincere.

-You know what the funny thing is? I'm still in love with you. Nothing's changed... Neither time nor my marriage has been able to change my feelings for you and I am sure that if after this long and complicated speech, you decide to turn around and leave without turning back, I would continue to be in love with you.

You are and will always be the love of my life-

As Oliver put his heart and feelings in Elio’s hands, the other stood still, his eyes fixed on Oliver's face, his eyes slowly veiling in tears. Only when Oliver finished his monologue did Elio blink, allowing tears to slowly slip down his cheeks.

The next moment, Elio bent his head and placed it on Oliver's left shoulder, hiding his face. Faced with that unexpected gesture, Oliver stood still for a moment uncertain before raising one hand to the base of the other's neck and sinking his fingers into the black curls.

"Oliver," Oliver said, slightly bringing his lips closer to Elio's right cheek.

Elio raised his head from his shoulder and allowed Oliver to meet his gaze, to sink into his eyes, made even brighter by tears, without straying too far so as not to lose contact with Oliver's hand in his hair.

"Elio..."answered the black-haired man in a whisper, lacing an arm around Oliver's waist.

Trying to control the crazy beat of his heart, Oliver let his gaze wander over Elio's face until it rested on his lips.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, returning to meet his gaze.

Elio moved his head slightly, touching Oliver's left cheek with the tip of his nose as his lips curved into a small smile.

"Please- he said.

The next moment, Oliver annulled the distance between them and laid his lips on the soft ones of Elio.

Their first kiss had been sweet, shy, almost hesitant.

This kiss instead, was hungry from the start: the two men almost immediately open their mouths to allow their tongues to meet and engage in a slow dance that saw Oliver take control of the kiss.

A slight sigh escaped to Elio's lips, as his arms rose to tighten around Oliver's muscular shoulders, thus shifting the balance between them and forcing him to stand on tiptoe.

Still focus on the kiss, Oliver clasped his arm around Elio's waist, while the fingers of his other hand ruffled even more the man's rebellious hair.

They separated only when the need to breathe became urgent but did not stop embracing. Oliver placed his head on the black-haired man shoulder, as if he wanted to hide from his sight after his words, but the feeling of Elio's lips not far from his neck gave him further confirmation that the other would not run away from his office.

-I've never loved anyone like I loved you.

You are the only true love of my life-said Elio almost softly.

Oliver smiled and squeezed Elio tighter to himself, as if he were afraid to see him vanish in a cloud of smoke. The next moment he raised his head from the other's shoulder and kissed him several times, this time with closed lips, until Elio's lips under his opened into a smile.

"Come away with me" Elio said.

Oliver stared him interdicted.

-Come with me to the hotel... I don't want to be alone with you, and we still have many things to talk about-

Oliver nodded slowly.

Elio was right. He had no intention of letting Elio go before they had talk about them and without deciding what would become of their future and certainly they could not discuss it in his office at Columbia University.

But then he remembered an important detail.

-I can't. There's someone waiting for me at home- he said letting out a sigh.

He knew immediately that his words had been misinterpreted and the next moment Elio loosened his embrace to put some distance between them.

Oh-he said, trying not to be affected by his words.

Oliver nodded.

-Her name is Lady. She's two years old and if I don't come home, she'll start fidgeting and destroying my apartment before punishing me by eating one of my slippers" he said wryly.

Elio frowned, trying to make sense of his words, until his face opened into an amused smile.

-A dog! For a moment I thought...-

"I know what you thought" Oliver interrupted him, smiling in turn, before becoming serious again.

"There is no one else Elio. There was never anyone else after my divorce- he confessed making things clear once and for all.

Elio nodded, stroking Oliver’s arm slowly.

"Well, since we can't go back to your hotel, how about we go to my apartment?" asked Oliver.

Elio again cancelled the distance between them and then placed a sweet kiss on Oliver's lips.

-_Portami a casa americano_-


End file.
